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How Did I Get Here?

This a life-story. MY life-story, about my life. Alright, that’s enough nonsense, let’s get right to the story. MY life-story, that is. 

It began when I was zero, the day of my birth, November 13th, a Friday to be exact. Wait, no, it was November 14th, still a Friday to be exact. My mom had just finished a nine month long journey of carrying my slowly improving fetus around, when POP!…a nearby gunshot sent her into labor. I was not able to process thought at the time of my birth, so I could not have possibly known the terrible things that would happen to me in my life following that day. 

From what I remember, it was just me and my mother at the beginning. According to her, my father was on business trips constantly, which was a kinder way of saying he was taken by the Russian Army and sent to live the rest of his life in the ice-cold wasteland known as Siberia. Now, at the time I assumed my father was an incredible man, caught in a terrible case of mistaken identity. But, in reality, he was a man of great stupidity, pretending to act as a U.S. Spy to get free drinks at the local bars in Russia. His plan was put to a halt in the end, as he was immediately arrested by authorities within five minutes and the rest is history. I never knew my father, but I know I will never make the same common mistake. 

On my seventh birthday I was sent to an orphan center when my mother checked herself into a mental hospital, although nothing was wrong with her, she insisted it would be a better life for her than to live with me any longer. 

This made me sad. 

I spent the next 3 months trying to drown my stuffed animals in the bathtub to no avail, as the orphan center did not have running water. I was forced to quit school with my only alternative being a class that the orphan center offered every February 29th. I fell in love with literature, although I was never taught to read I would sit in my bed and talk out loud to myself to make the other kids think I was actually reading a book. Physical abuse was common in the orphanage, but I seemed to be the only boy receiving the beatings. The employees did little to stop this, mostly due to the fact that they were the ones doing the beatings most of the time. 

I knew it was time to leave when I was diagnosed with the first known case of “Super-Duper Stupidity” by the orphanage’s doctor. All the kids in the orphanage were given IQ tests, while mine was given to a hill of fire-ants, who scored significantly lower than the other kids, as they had eaten the test. I made plans for an escape soon after.

On my 10th birthday I managed to put the finishing touches on a mannequin of myself that I had been collecting pieces for since I was first put in the orphanage. This way, I would be able to slip out of a window while the employees assumed I was fast asleep in my bed. Unfortunately, word got out that I planned to escape and the employees became so excited that I wanted to leave that they gladly threw me out onto the streets. At 10 years old I was homeless. My birth certificate was used for toilet paper early on in my stay at the orphanage, so I had no identity anymore. After being tossed onto the streets, I was immediately confronted by the local gang, who welcomed me in with open arms. As luck would have it, they were the most violent gang in all of America at the time, I first became aware of this when the day came to complete my initiation. I was taken to a nearby zoo and thrown into the gorilla enclosure where I was tasked with killing the 350 pound monster. I managed to escape the gorilla for the first few seconds, but was quickly snatched and dragged by my ankles around the area several times before the rest of the gorillas took turns sneezing and farting on me for sport. It was hours before any help arrived, and unfortunately for me, I was left in the enclosure overnight. Apparently, a male gorilla had become quite fond of me and the zoo workers said it would not be wise to take me away as it would only anger the gorilla, claiming they didn’t want to risk him escaping and hurting other guests. 

I was able to quietly escape in the middle of the night when the gorillas had all fallen asleep and was able to make my way back to the gang house. They were so impressed I had made it back that they allowed me to be a member. Over the years I was trained vigorously to become the most cold-blooded killer in the gang’s history. I had seen so many horrible things and committed numerous, terrible atrocities by the time my 18th birthday came around. I was making my birthday wish when our gang house was raided by the police, taking away everyone I had been calling family for years. I was the only person they had not taken, posing as a clueless housekeeper and slipping out the front door. 

I moved in with a woman who claimed to be my fathers sister. She showed me photos of my father as kid and even gave me them to keep. It seemed like my father was just like me in every way, the smile, the posture, except for our hair, his was orange while mine was brown. She explained this was because my father experimented with radiation as a kid, fairly unpopular among the other kids at the time. I came across something strange under the photos, it was a piece of paper that had a bunch of symbols on it, which my Aunt told me were words, it was a letter. I was still unable to read at this point so she read it to me. The letter was from my father, telling my Aunt of his arrest in Russia. She continued to read, eventually revealing that my father had suspicions of my mother being pregnant. Becoming scared, he fled to Russia in fear that he would only ruin my life if he were involved. 

I quickly gathered up the photos along with the letter and got enough money from my Aunt to make my way to Russia the next day. 

I still had no identity to purchase a plane ticket so I was forced to hide inside luggage on the 13 hour flight to Russia. I contracted pink eye, but it was worth it, as I made it into the country without any questions asked. 

My trek to the middle of Siberia had begun, I was going to find my Father. Days went by, even weeks. I trudged through many miles of snow and ice, healing from my pink eye only to receive a ravaging case of frostbite. I used sled dogs to conquer most of my trip, becoming close friends with all of them along the long, perilous journey. My hunger got the best of me and I was forced to eat them for survival, shortly after I remembered I had packed extra food to ration in case of emergencies. I had to eat the snacks to get the taste of my dog companions taste out of my mouth. Now, I was without food and friends. 

My quest met an interesting turn when I remembered I was adopted… 

-The End-